Citizen of the Galaxy by Robert A. Heinlein

Yet Pop had been insulted by the truth, for certainly Pop had been his master; Pop had bought him off the block. No, that was nonsense! He hadn’t been Pop’s slave; he had been Pop’s son . . . Pop was never his master, even the times he had given him a quick one across the behind for goofing. Pop . . . was just ‘Pop.’

Thorby knew then that the one thing that Pop hated was slavery.

Thorby was not sure why he was sure, but he was. He could not recall that Pop had ever said a word about slavery, as such; all Thorby could remember Pop saying was that a man need never be other than free in his own mind.

“Hey!”

The Supercargo was looking at him. “Sir?”

“Are you moving that crate, or making a bed of it?”

Three local days later Thorby had finished showering, about to hit dirt with Fritz, when the deckmaster stuck his head in the washroom, spotted him, and said, “Captain’s compliments and Clerk Thorby Baslim-Krausa will attend him.”

“Aye aye, Deckmaster,” Thorby answered and added something under his breath. He hurried into clothes, stuck his head into his bunkie, gave the sad word to Fritz and rushed to the Cabin, hoping that the Deckmaster had told the Captain that Thorby had been showering.

The door was open. Thorby started to report formally when the Captain looked up. “Hello, Son. Come in.”

Thorby shifted gears from Ship to Family. “Yes, Father.”

“I’m about to hit dirt. Want to come along?”

“Sir? I mean, ‘Yes, Father!’ that ‘ud be swell!”

“Good. I see you’re ready. Let’s go.” He reached in a drawer and handed Thorby some twisted bits of wire. “Here’s pocket money; you may want a souvenir.”

Thorby examined it. “What’s this stuff worth. Father?”

“Nothing — once we’re off Losian. So give me back what you have left so I can turn it in for credit. They pay us off in thorium and goods.”

“Yes, but how will I know how much to pay for a thing?”

“Take their word for it. They won’t cheat and won’t bargain. Odd ones. Not like Lotarf . . . on Lotarf, if you buy a beer without an hour’s dickering you’re ahead.”

Thorby felt that he understood Lotarfi better than he did Losians. There was something indecent about a purchase without a polite amount of dickering. But fraki had barbaric customs; you had to cater to them — Sisu prided herself on never having trouble with fraki.

“Come along. We can talk as we go.”

As they were being lowered Thorby looked at the ship nearest them, Free Trader El Nido, Garcia clan. “Father, are we going to visit with them?”

“No, I exchanged calls the first day.”

“I didn’t mean that. Will there be any parties?”

“Oh. Captain Garcia and I agreed to dispense with hospitality; he’s anxious to jump. No reason why you shouldn’t visit them though, subject to your duties.” He added, “Hardly worth it; she’s like Sisu, only not as modern.”

“Thought I might look at her computer rooms.”

They hit ground and stepped off. “Doubt if they’d let you. They’re a superstitious lot.” As they stepped clear of the hoist a baby Losian came streaking up, circled and sniffed their legs. Captain Krausa let the little thing investigate him, then said mildly, “That’s enough,” and gently pushed it away. Its mother whistled it back, picked it up and spanked it Captain Krausa waved to her, called out, “Hello, friend!”

“Hello, Trader Man,” she answered in Interlingua shrill and sibilant. She was two-thirds Thorby’s height, on four legs with forelimbs elevated — the baby had been on all six. Both were sleek and pretty and sharp-eyed. Thorby was amused by them and only slightly put off by the double mouth arrangement — one for eating, one for breathing and talking.

Captain Krausa continued talking. “That was a nice run you made on that Losian craft.”

Thorby blushed. “You knew about that, Father?”

“What kind of a captain am I if I don’t? Oh, I know what’s worrying you. Forget it. If I give you a target, you burn it. It’s up to me to kill your circuits if we make friendly identification. If I slap the God-be-thanked switch, you can’t get your computer to fire, the bombs are disarmed, the launching gear is locked, the Chief can’t move the suicide switch. So even if you hear me call off the action — or you get excited and don’t hear — it doesn’t matter. Finish your run; it’s good practice.”

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